


Hero

by Rojia



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 15:06:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2737085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rojia/pseuds/Rojia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur needs a hero, Eames is what he gets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Arthur ran into the last car in line in the subway, slipping into it sideways as the doors tried to close on him, tried to crush him, but he made it. Covered in blood, entirely his own, and not wearing a coat or shoes he was obviously in trouble, but it didn't matter, there was no one around to help at this time of night.

It was the typical grungy subway car, plastic seats, graffiti, who-new-what stains everywhere, but it was better then the bitterly cold streets above. He was safe here, though, in a strange way not having help was the best thing for him. Even though he was still bleeding and bruised and could hardly feel his feet for the cold he was safer here.

They hadn't caught him.

He sat back, wrapping his arms around himself and hoping the train would skip a few stops on the way to Harlem, that he would get home before he lost any toes. Even as he sat there in the relative quite however he had a feeling it wouldn't be over.

He was a grown man, in his twenties, he didn't need to get cornered and mugged. It was like he was a child in school being bullied just because he was small. He hated the feeling, almost as much as he hated the feeling when he ran his tongue over the split in his lip that was still gushing blood.

The train began to move, jerking and shuddering like it would fall apart at any moment, and he settled into the seat, staring at the windows across from him. This was it, seven stops and he was home and that was all that really mattered anymore. They had taken his jacket and his shoes and complained he didn't have any money because he had forgotten it and they'd beat him but he was alive.

He could just keep his head down and he'd be fine.

The sound of the door opening at the front of the car a few minutes later barely registered, and he only looked up because of the low chuckle, and there were the three of them. One wore his jacket even though it was clearly a little too small for him, the other had his shoes slung over a shoulder and a grin on his face, but the main one was the one he was looking at. Taller then the other two, he was the one that was laughing. “Well look what we have here, boys!”

They laughed among themselves and Arthur just sat there, dumbfounded by their presence. The train slowed, stopped, the doors opened, but there was no one there. No one wanted out of the car, except for Arthur of course, but his feet couldn't take any more freezing concrete.

“Well boys.” the taller one spoke again, “Let's see what else he has, yeah?” They started walking and Arthur felt himself tense to run, maybe he could make it out the doors.

He had just started to rise up out of his seat when someone appeared in the doorway and he dropped back into the molded plastic. That was it, this was the end of him then. The doors closed before the man had moved more then a step into the car, but he wouldn't have been able to squeeze past him anyway. He felt his arms wrap around himself again instinctively, maybe they wouldn't start kicking him this time.

They moved like so many sharks toward him, teeth gnashing and grinning, but the man by the doors didn't move at all. They were nearly on him, sure that whomever this was wouldn't help him, when he finally spoke up. “Oy.” They looked over and he was staring at them, particularly at the smear of blood he'd left on one of their shoes before. “You little shite's got a problem?”

Arthur stared at him, at them, at him again. He didn't know this man from anyone but he was sticking his neck out for him. The taller man seemed to bristle at that, scowling at the man. “Who the hell do you think you are you limey fuck?”

“Better then you lot, that's for sure.”

Arthur felt like a child caught between warring parents. He didn't like how often he was feeling like that today, he was an adult, he just wanted to go home from work and be left alone.

“Oh yeah?” The man crossed the distance between them in a few steps and Arthur prepared himself for when the man would back down, would just ignore it like everyone else would. This was New York, people didn't help in situations like this because they were afraid, and Arthur didn't blame them.

The sound of a fist connecting solidly with bone brought him out of whatever corner of his mind he had been in as the man lashed out, landing a solid punch in the tall man's eye socket. The tall man dropped, holding his face and his savior stepped over him to the other men. The one with his shoes dropped them and sprinted whole heartedly out of the car, but the one in his jacket never made it that far. His hero latched onto the front of his shirt and pulled him in, “You think this shite is funny? Pickin' on someone just because they aren't as big as you? Giving some kid a go over to nick his shoes!?”

He was not a tall man, his hero, he was about Arthur's height in fact, so it surprised him when he lifted the slightly taller man off the ground a little. The coat thief looked like he was going to answer, like he was going to defend himself but he was flung backward with as much force as Arthur's ally seemed to be able to muster. He hit the nearest row of seats and tried to scramble up only to be met with a similar punch in the face.  
The hero of the hour gave them a moment to see if they'd get up, but when neither of them moved he grabbed Arthur's shoes and headed for him. At first Arthur wasn't sure if he should run, his heart pounding so hard in his chest he could hear it and he was sure the other man could as well, but he sat still, watching as the man approached. This man, no taller then him, stopped and crouched down in front of him like he might with any child, “These yours?”

Arthur nodded quietly and he received a sympathetic smile from this man before he started trying to undo the knot the thieves had put in the laces. After a moment Arthur reached out and took the shoes from him, slowly, and the man let him, “You're fingers are too big.” He mumbled, staring at the man's hands. They were enormous hands really, and they had callouses and scars on the knuckles, like a boxer's or a mechanic's.

“Not the first time I've heard that.” He chuckled a little, a deep gravely sound somewhere in his chest, but didn't stand up even as the other two men began to move. The train slowed, began to grind to a halt at the next station, and the tall man and his coat thief scrambled toward the door like this man might attack them which was entirely reasonable at this point. He didn't move toward them, however, instead he crouched before Arthur and smiled even though Arthur was watching them.

The train doors popped open and in the second it took Arthur to register it they were gone. He smiled, even though it felt like his lip was about to split in two, “Thank you.”

The man looked and him and nodded, “Cheers.” He stood up and took the seat directly beside Arthur as the train began to move again. “Name's Eames.” He extended hi hand at an odd angle.

“Arthur.” He answered, shaking it shortly before pulling at the knot again. “And I'm not a kid.”

Eames seemed somewhat surprised by that. “Come again darling?”

Arthur blinked at him, his fingers still for a moment, “You told him something about taking my shoes, but I'm not a kid.” He tugged at the knot with his teeth and a few strands of the knot came loose enough for him to tug them free, “I'm twenty five.”

Eames laughed, “Still a kid by my count then, of course I'm not much older but still.” He smiled and Arthur immediately felt safe, like this man would protect him from anything. He watched as Eames turned in his seat, facing him with one leg pulled up in front of him, watching him.

He sat like that and talked until Arthur separated his shoes and slipped them on, shifting around a little to try and asses just how bad off he was. “You don't have to stay, they're gone now.” He mumbled, feeling his ears go pink under his hair.

Eames shrugged, “I'm not in a hurry.”

At Arthur's stop Eames followed him off the train, at the corner he offered him his jacket or his hoodie, and at his front door when Arthur tried to give it back he shook his head. He did pull a pen out of his pocket and scribble down his number on the inside of Arthur's wrist, “Next time you feel like getting mugged, call me yeah? Maybe we can keep your shirt clean.”

Arthur stared at the numbers for a moment, standing there in front of Eames with a stupid grin on his face at the terrible hand writing. As the other man started to move Arthur grabbed the front of his hoodie and pulled him back toward him. The split in his lip burned in protest but he didn't listen, the return of that pressure from those perfect lips was deafening.

Eames smiled when they finally separated, although their foreheads lingered together for a second. “Yeah...” He chuckled a little, “Definately give me a call darling, if that's my reward.”

They said a short goodbye, Arthur felt his heart pound his eardrums as they brushed lips one more time and Eames was off, back toward the subway station they had left. “See you later, superman.” The hoodie smelled like tea and cigarettes, and Arthur decided he could get used to that smell.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so honestly, this was never intended to be more then a one shot, but when Oneiroi mentioned a sequal it stuck in my head and now I'm part way through the third part.... enjoy!

Arthur waited a week, possibly the longest week of his life, before he called the number Eames had scrawled on his arm. He didn't want to seem desperate, he was a grown up, he had things to do. All of those things were going to and from work and glancing over his shoulder at regular intervals to be sure no one was following him, but Eames didn't need to know that. Just like he didn't need to know Arthur had worn his sweatshirt to bed three nights in a row.

When he finally did call it just happened to be the only day he got out of work early all week, and he wasn't going to just sit around feeling bad for himself, even if the split in his lip still hurt when he poked at it with his tongue. As much as he hated walking down the street alone, as much as that weight of terror in the pit of his stomach refused to go away he wasn't going to just live in fear. The only person that had made that feeling bearable was Eames, and he wanted, no needed, to see him.

It was one in the afternoon, he wouldn't be bothering him at one in the afternoon.

The phone rang once, twice, and as he was resigning himself to the fact that it was going to voicemail the ringing cut off. “ 'Lo, is' Eames.” The voice was low, gravely, and sounded like he had just been asleep. 

“Hi... um, this is Arthur, from the subway the other night...” The sound of shifting and something scraping lightly in the background. “I didn't wake you up did I? I didn't know you worked nights...”

“No worries.” Eames mumbled. “I work whenever I feel like it, I was just up late.” He chuckled and Arthur had a hard time swallowing to answer. 

“Oh well, if you're busy... what is that?”

Eames went quiet for a moment, “What's what? Oh this?” The scratching sound started again.

“Yes that.” Arthur asked, a little louder then he meant to as he came out of the elevator on the first floor of the building. People glanced at him, the quiet guy from floor nine that generally didn't use his phone, let alone use it loudly in public. 

“I'm an artist... well mostly a sculptor, yeah kind of mostly a sculptor, but if I have an idea and I don't get it down I forget it.” The scratching sound stopped again and he heard Eames moving around. “Did you need something darling?”

Arthur felt his ears go pink and walked a little faster out of the building. Why did he have to say it like that, all low gravel and embarrassing affection? “Well I was going to lunch, and I don't want to get mugged again but I might wind up walking down a dark alley...” 

Eames made an approving noise, low in his chest, and everything from Arthur's brain down went numb. “You have somewhere in mind?” Arthur gave him the name of a place not far from where he'd gotten on the subway, where he'd saved him and Eames told him he'd be there in half an hour. They said a short goodbye and Arthur hung up the phone, looking don at it with that stupid little smile. He felt like a love struck school girl from one of those horrible teen movies.

It only took Arthur ten minutes to get there, and as he sat at the table he was shown in the little diner he realized he could hardly stand to sit still. His foot tapped on the tile, his hands shifted and played with the edges of his place mat. 

He'd never been this nervous to have lunch with anyone, let alone someone who was now ten minutes late, and he couldn't help fidgeting. Maybe he was being stood up, after all the man hadn't done anything in the time since they'd met to show any interest in him besides not running away when he'd kissed him. Maybe this was all just him getting too attached to the guy that saved his life? No, Eames had said it was a reward, getting that kiss. He wasn't delusional, well not that delusional, there could be something there.

He pulled out his phone to check the time and decided he was going to be sick, or possibly die, he wasn't really sure which, when someone dropped into the booth across from him. Eames, still wearing his sweatshirt, still with those perfect lips. “Sorry I'm late, had to take a call. That was a clanger.” Eames looked at him staring back in surprise and smiled, “What? Didn't think I'd skip out on you did you?”

Arthur couldn't help that stupid grin from spreading across his face again as he shook his head. 

They talked for hours, about everything and nothing. How odd it was for Eames adjusting to America over London, how often Arthur got his shoes stolen. They talked about how good the sandwiches were, how long they had lived in the city, what exactly Eames meant by 'kind of mostly a sculptor'. When he explained he did paintings and things as well Arthur asked if he'd seen any of it, Eames highly doubted it. When he asked what Arthur did and he explained he worked HR for a bank they talked about how interesting that must be and Arthur shared some of the more ridiculous tales he'd received. 

It was already after six when they finally left the restaurant. At first they just started walking, neither of them really seemed to care where they were going as they discussed how quickly it had gotten cold this year, traffic, how much they hated cabs. By the time they even realized they were still out it was dark and they were standing at the edge of Central Park. 

They stopped and Arthur wasn't sure what to do or say. It wasn't awkward, just the opposite actually, he had never felt so comfortable with anyone in his life. At the risk of sounding like the teenage girl from a romantic comedy, again, it felt like they had known each other forever, and he didn't actually want to go home. 

As if he could read his mind Eames smiled and spoke up for him, “You still planning to go through the bad part of town? I can chaperone.” 

Arthur laughed, “No I think I'll make it, unless you want to walk me home.” 

He started for the subway station. Eames caught his elbow, tugging him back toward him and slipping an arm around his back, “You could walk me home darling.”

There was that mind numbing gravely affection again. 

“Would that make me Louis Lane?” Arthur felt that stupid little smile spread across his face again and the split in his lip burned again as Eames leaned in. His lips were more insistent this time, and the hand on Arthur's back pulled him in until they were pressed together. He liked the way Eames' lips felt on his when he smiled, and the familia smell of cigarettes and tea had his head spinning.

“I was always more fond of Batman.” Eames smiled and didn't let him back away, as if Arthur even had that thought, “You can be Robin.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this post on tumblr! 
> 
> http://igotlostinslashland.tumblr.com/post/72701083561/would-you-dance-if-i-asked-you-to-dance-would


End file.
